Disclaimer: Paramount owns them all. I don't.
Doctor,
Do you remember the conversation we had shortly before I left for Cardassia? I asked you why you had befriended me, and you told me that in the beginning I was "another case to solve," but that somehow, you realized that we were indeed friends, though in an unorthodox manner.
I never answered when you asked the same question of me. Before the Federation came to the station, there were a few Cardassian soldiers who would try to bait me, and we would pretend to be friendly while probing each other for information. It was merely contact, an acknowledgment that I did exist, and I did not pretend it was friendship. I looked for a similar arrangement when the Federation came, but few people on the station were willing to speak to me at all.
But you, Doctor, were different. Perhaps neither of us were looking for friendship, but that is what resulted. You are correct in believing that we did become friends without realizing it. It was a surprise to me when I first thought that I would trust you with my life.
People like me do not trust anyone, friend or foe, with their secrets. To trust with my life is the most that I am able to trust. If I were killed, the consequences would not be dire; secrets can be the downfall of more than you may imagine. Most humans do not understand this, but you rose above that cultural limitation.
Remorse was on your face, despite your attempts to hide it, when you told me your initial reason for eating with me. Never go into spying, Doctor, because your face would give away more information than you would collect. Back to our lunches, though- I do not believe that your motivations were any less selfish than mine.
It is remarkable that we forged a friendship. How it happened, I am not entirely sure. I dislike uncertainty such as that. Despite the uncertainty, I am truly glad to call you my friend.
You will find the information attached to be a puzzle more easily solved than my life history. This plague affects only Cardassians and is a low priority among the Federation aid doctors, as it infects only five percent of our population. Knowing your love of "helping the underdog," as well as several of the victims, I send this to you for reasons you have no doubt put together already.
The infected population is kept sequested away from all other Cardassians, ill and healthy. Sickness from this is a death sentence because food and supplies are given mainly to those who have a chance to live. If the plague victims are dying, why worry that they die comfortably? Unable to move, victims spend their days staring at the ceiling, trapped within their own minds until the brain succumbs. Then it is merely a matter of time before the lungs and heart cease to function as well. Death invariably occurs between the sixth and seventh week since exposure. The lucky ones are those whose brains forgo reality by the third week.
Nobody pays much attention to the victims, because the percentage of the total population is small. I know that as you read this, you will be disgusted with the aid workers, but please remember that they are caring for an entire planet. The Vulcans, although I find them to be insufferable, are correct. Emotionalism here is out of place. The needs of the many, of Cardassia, outweigh the needs of the few.
Appealing to emotions is the only chance for these people, Doctor. The ceiling is a remarkably plain thing to look at day after day.
The traits I am appealing to now are the very same ones I used to mock. Now they are my only hope.
Humans have a hell of fire. I believe my hell will be an eternal ceiling.